The Complications of Fate
by resauthor
Summary: Chris and Rita attempt a double date. Rest assured, Jillian and Eric only appear in my stories when I have a creative way to dispense with them.


_Author's notes__: This is another short story not connected to any other Classic Moments adventure or timeline. I'm dusting off and cleaning up the short ones first, but the longer ones await their turn. The Wolf is at the door._

**The Complications of Fate**

**by: resauthor**

**IMPATIENCE PROPELLED CHRIS LORENZO** across the crowded dance floor. His predatory blue eyes never stopped their pursuit despite the multitude of bodies that repeatedly blocked his path, delaying his search of, and ultimate departure from, Palm Beach's trendiest new night club. Each time the swirling green vision he sought changed direction; his own course was automatically reset. Neither flashing lights nor flailing limbs could deter him from his path.

If anything did come close to softening his resolve, it was the unbearable noise level. Music blared loudly from state-of-the-art speakers, permeating every nook and cranny of the cavernous room so completely, the vibrations could be felt in the roots of his teeth. It wasn't exactly painful, and maybe if he were in a better mood the atmosphere might actually be enjoyable, but for now, it was damned annoying. The song currently playing had to be one of the worst offenders so far. Its tempo was erratic and the words unfamiliar. When his glance finally fell on the one he desired, she appeared to be enjoying herself, never losing a beat and easily adapting her moves to the fast-paced music. Slender white arms moved seductively, bringing her body flush to her dance partner, before twirling away - over and over again.

Chris struggled to get nearer, but a wave of dancers closed ranks around him. Bumped, jarred, and openly propositioned, he forced himself past all offers, trying to reach her, but all he could see was the top of her head, which, despite the high heels, was inches below most of those surrounding her.

Muttered curses didn't help the situation but brought a small measure of satisfaction all the same. How had she talked him into coming here tonight? What had she been thinking of? What had HE been thinking of? The pounding in his head grew louder, no longer caused by outside sources. Was he the only one uncomfortable with this attempt at social interaction? Reaching her quickly was a priority. Once the proper excuses were made, he could get the hell out of there.

The music stopped suddenly and luck was on his side. There she stood, only a short distance away, facing her escort. The half bare, slender back and thin green straps of her dress were instantly recognizable. He called out. Delicate shoulder blades shifted with feline grace, and dark silken hair swung round to reveal sea-green eyes that sparkled with happiness. Her face was flushed from exercise, and rose painted lips, which were already turned up in a smile, widened even further when she spotted him. With one hand still held by the expensively dressed man at her side, she twisted around, the skirt of her dress fluttering across silk covered thighs. Lips parted as if in slow motion, but whatever she had been about to say was lost when an unexpected voice drew his attention.

"Chris!"

His head whipped around as a firm hand took hold of his arm. He turned back to Rita, but her gaze had slid past him, to the auburn-haired woman at his side. The music started up again, and he bent down in order to hear what his companion was saying.

"I thought you were going to wait for me back at the table?"

"I'm sorry, Jillian." His smile was tight and his words unnecessarily sharp. Sensing her confusion, he was instantly filled with regret, but couldn't resist a quick glance back to where Rita had been standing with Eric. The couple had once again disappeared into the crowd. "I have a headache," he explained in an exhausted tone. Jillian moved into his arms, offering comfort and encouraging him to take advantage of the slow ballad that had begun to play.

"Did you take something for it?" She was all concern, her arms slipping around his neck as she spoke the question against the side of his face. Her firm body - beautifully showcased in a short black dress - swayed against his, her exotic perfume teased his senses, and still, his mind wandered down distant paths.

Placing an open palm against his cheek, Jillian pulled back and studied him with a practiced medical eye. "Do you want to leave now? Is that why you were looking for Rita?"

"I'm just tired," he assured her. Jillian's face nestled into his shoulder, one hand covering his heart, while all around them couples drifted past. The house lights had dimmed to a more romantic level, and he was forced to abandon his search.

"Eric Russell seems like a great guy." Jillian's raised voice brought his attention back to the woman in his arms. "He must be pretty successful," she added, trying to draw some type of response out of him.

"I guess so," he muttered. This was not a subject he wanted to pursue.

Jillian closed her eyes and patiently tried again, "It was nice of them to invite us out this evening."

"Sure was." Very nice, the little voice in his head mimicked. Damn nice. The height of nicety! When the hell had 'nice' become so annoying? Eric Russell was an ex-cop and a successful writer who had gone out of his way to get to know Rita's co-workers and her friends. The man was obviously in love with her. And why wouldn't he be?

"Rita seems happy."

He didn't respond right away but carefully schooled his expression when Jillian lifted her head to look at him. She was expecting some sort of reply, that much he could tell by the look in her eyes, but damned if he knew exactly what he was supposed to say. "Rita definitely looks happy." He opted for the simple truth, even allowing the corners of his mouth to curve up into what he hoped was a smile. Rita, happy? Oh yeah, he grudgingly admitted as his thoughts wandered away once again. Rita not only looked happy, but she was also damn near glowing. She hadn't looked that happy since…. since…. Was this evening ever going to end?

Jillian stopped suddenly, stepped out of his arms without a word, and left the dance floor. Chris took off after her, dodging and weaving past other couples as he struggled to follow. He finally caught up to her at the corner table where their half-finished drinks awaited.

"Jillian?" Chris stood there waiting for an explanation, but she ignored him as she sat down. After pulling a pen from her purse, she wrote a short note on a cocktail napkin and placed it in the center of the table. "Don't you think it would be better to make our excuses in person?" he asked. When she finally glanced up, he was surprised by the anger in her expression. "What?"

Jillian didn't even attempt to compete with the deafening noise all around them, silently pointing towards the main entrance and leading the way to the parking lot. She didn't stop until she reached the Charger and he was standing right behind her.

Chris made no move to unlock the passenger door, taking hold of her arm as he asked, "What's wrong?"

Jillian took a deep breath and turned around. After briefly meeting his eyes, she looked past him to the brightly lit building. Arms folded protectively across her chest, she struggled to keep her expression calm in the very public lot. Despite the late hour, people continued to arrive in droves, willing to stand hours in line for an opportunity to get inside.

"Talk to me." Chris leaned closer, attempting to touch his lips to hers, but Jillian flinched and turned away. Dark lashes drifted downward, shuttering her expression. Exasperated, he asked, "How can we deal with this if you won't even look at me?"

She ignored the question. "Are you ready to go?"

"This is ridiculous," Chris muttered, unlocking the car and opening the passenger door. He waited for her to be seated before slamming it shut and walking around to the driver's side. After one last glance in the direction of the club, he ducked into the car and placed the key in the ignition. "Can we talk at my place?" Her eyes were turned away from him, focused on some distant point outside the window, but a slight nod sent him in the direction of home. "Do you plan on telling me what this is all about?"

Heavy silence was his only answer.

**"I THOUGHT THEY HEADED IN THIS DIRECTION**, but I must have been mistaken." Rita surveyed the crowd near their table, but there was no sign of Chris or Jillian. "I got the distinct impression that Chris needed to talk to me." Eric held out her chair, and she took a seat.

He dropped into the chair beside her and quickly spotted the note from Jillian. He held it up, waving it in Rita's direction. "Looks like the lovebirds couldn't wait to be alone."

Rita frowned, "It's not like Chris to leave without a thank you or a good-bye."

Eric shrugged his shoulders and stopped a passing waitress. He ordered a double scotch and a glass of white wine.

"I've had enough," Rita assured him, but he waved away her protests.

"You have to learn to relax, Rita. Loosen up and have a good time." Leaning forward he trailed a finger up her forearm. "Chris had the right idea." Taking her hand in his, he brought it up to his lips.

"He might have been paged." Despite the romantic overtures from the handsome man at her side, she couldn't stop wondering about Chris' expression out on the dance floor.

Eric's smile hardened and an impatient tone crept into his voice, "I'm sure Chris can handle any problem that comes up." His fingers slid around to the back of her neck and he pulled her close, placing a quick, hard kiss on her mouth. He whispered against her lips, "I've gone out of my way to make friends with your partner, Rita. How about a little attention directed at just the two of us for a change?"

Rita nodded thoughtfully, admitting to herself that Eric might have a valid point. More than one potential boyfriend had complained about the distractions of her demanding job, and although she was determined to successfully balance both parts of her life this time, maybe trying to mix the two was not the way to go about it. But keeping both sides separate didn't work either, mainly because of Chris. "You know what's it's like to be a cop," she reminded Eric gently. "Chris is a major part of my life."

The scotch was delivered just in time, giving Eric a few seconds to think before he spoke. He paid for their drinks and took a long sip, smiling indulgently. Holding up his glass, he offered a toast, "To partners?"

"To partners," she smiled and touched her wine glass to his tumbler. "And now, just because you've been so understanding, you've got my undivided attention for the rest of the evening."

"That's my girl," Eric responded confidently before taking another long swig.

**"OKAY, WE'RE HERE."** Chris tossed his keys onto the coffee table and waited for Jillian to speak. After a few unsuccessful attempts at conversation in the car, the remainder of the fifteen-minute drive had been made in total silence.

Jillian had followed Chris into the apartment but stopped short in the center of the room, making no move to sit down or take off her coat. Her eyes continued to trail Chris as he walked to the kitchen area and started making coffee. He was at the sink, filling the glass pot when she suddenly blurted out, "I'm not sure I like being with you when Rita is around."

The quiet, blunt statement took Chris by surprise. He set the coffee pot on the counter and walked slowly back into the living room, his eyes never leaving her face. Just as he reached her side, she backed away and moved to the window.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked quietly.

Jillian kept her face averted, as if reluctant to speak her mind. Drawing a deep breath, she finally turned back and spoke in a much stronger voice, "You know how I feel about you, Chris. You know I'm in love with you."

"And I care very deeply for you also."

"But," she held up a hand to stop him from coming any closer, "whenever Rita is with us, it's like you're a different person." She looked back down at the street below. "I can't compete with her, Chris. I shouldn't have to."

"If I did something tonight that upset you, Jillian, I apologize." Chris moved to stand behind her. "Rita and I have been together a lot of years, and it's only natural that there is a certain mental shorthand that develops after all that time. If I had known that tonight would upset you so much, I never would have agreed to go." Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her back to rest against his chest. "You are not in a competition. I've told you before that Rita and I have never had the type of relationship that you and I do, and I meant it."

"I want to believe you," she whispered, allowing herself to relax against him, "but when the two of you are together…."

"I don't know how to explain it to you any clearer than I have, except to say that I'm here with you tonight."

"But when the two of you are together…." Chris was nibbling on her neck, making it difficult for Jillian to continue. A shrill ring interrupted, and his lips left the side of her throat. He answered the phone and handed it over quickly.

Jillian's conversation with the caller was quick and to the point. She disconnected the call and turned to Chris. "I have to go. I must have dropped my phone in the car."

"I'll drive you to the hospital," Chris offered, taking both of her hands in his. Interruptions of this nature were a fact of life in both of their jobs. He searched her expression. "Are we okay here? About tonight, I mean."

With the full force of his engaging smile directed straight at her, there was nothing to do but smile in return. "We're okay," she assured him slowly. "I'm sorry about ruining your evening."

"Nothing is ruined. I need to catch up on my sleep anyway." Chris opened the front door. "Ready?"

"Ready."  
-

**"GIVE ME THE KEYS,"** Rita requested, holding out her hand to Eric.

Eric propped himself against the silver sports car, digging into his pocket. "Aha!" he pulled out the elusive key ring and dangled it from his fingers. "Your chariot awaits."

She reached for the keys but he swung his hand away and held the prize behind his back. "Eric, please. I think I should drive."

"Relax, Rita," he scolded. "Didn't we just talk about this inside?"

"No," she answered slowly, trying to ignore the condescending tone in his voice, "I don't think we discussed the need for a designated driver tonight."

"Designated driver?" The volume of his voice rose in direct proportion to his growing anger. "Are you insinuating that I'm drunk?"

Rita interrupted quickly, trying to avoid a scene, "No, of course not

"Okay, then," he said calmly, straightening his jacket before turning to unlock the passenger side door. "Get in. Maybe we can continue the evening at my place?"

"I don't think so."

"What the hell is the matter now?"

Rita glanced down at the pavement, not ready for him to see the disappointment in her eyes. This was the first truly uncomfortable moment in almost six months of dating.

"I'm talking to you, Rita!"

She moved forward, snatching the key ring from his hands before he realized what she was doing. "You may not be drunk," she hissed under her breath, "but I can guarantee that your blood alcohol level is above the legal limit, and you shouldn't be behind the wheel."

"Can't you ever leave the job behind?" His voice carried, causing more than one passing stranger to stare curiously at the couple.

"Am I supposed to leave my brain behind also?" she asked in stunned surprise. Fed up, she started walking back towards the club. A taxi-stand out front provided a continuous supply of alternative transportation.

Eric rushed to follow, "Hey, Rita..." Stumbling slightly over the low curb, he lost her for a second but grabbed her arm the moment he caught up. "Hey, look... I'm sorry. Maybe I did have one too many in there."

Rita searched the face she had grown so fond of over the past few months. Their relationship had begun during a very difficult time in her life, providing a welcome distraction and affectionate attention. Even now, he seemed sincere, but a self-protective door slammed somewhere deep in her heart. "I need to get home," was all she said, continuing on towards the front of the club.

"Let's go to my place," he suggested again, hurrying after her. "You drive." He moved ahead of her, walking backward with a hand over his heart and an apologetic, imploring look that begged for her sympathy.

For some reason, it had no effect at all on her tonight. A mild ache had started in her left temple and all she could think about was putting a quick end to the evening. "I'm going to take a cab," she informed him.

One of the doormen noticed her situation and stepped forward to offer assistance. Well over six feet tall and built like a linebacker, he sized up Eric quickly and didn't appear impressed. After being assured by Rita that she wasn't being accosted, but needed a taxi, he waved one over and held open the back door.

Rita gave the driver her home address and said a brief goodbye to Eric. The yellow taxi pulled away, sweeping her towards home in blissful silence.

**STANDING ON THE CURB,** watching the red tail lights merge into traffic, Eric scowled in frustration.

"Would you like a taxi, Sir?"

Eric threw the doorman a hostile glance and stalked back across the parking lot to his car. Standing next to the driver's side door, he searched his pockets for the key but came up empty. "Dammit!" He slammed his left fist against the side of the car. The pain in his hand paled next to the violence coursing through his blood. Rita had kept his key ring. What a fool he had been. Common sense, blurred by scotch, could not compete with the betrayal that burned in his gut.

Not even noticing the rounded dent in his dream car, he gave full vent to the simmering anger that could no longer be kept in check. "No matter what I do," he ground out, violently yanking on the door handle, "it's never good enough!" Frustrated, he stumbled back a few paces and kicked a tire. He paused, flinching in pain as he tried to straighten his tie. His left hand was beginning to throb painfully, and he needed to find a ride a home. Ordering a taxi appeared to be his only option.

Twenty minutes later he stalked into the emergency room with one hand held close to his side. Impatient and angry, it had been easy enough to ignore any pain during the taxi ride to the hospital, but the time had now come for some serious pain killers. He glanced around the deserted waiting room. If Rita hadn't kept his keys, he'd be drowning his sorrows in much more interesting surroundings. He scowled and approached the admittance desk.

He was still answering questions when he spotted a familiar face in one of the corridors. Jumping to his feet, he took off down the sterile white hallway.

"Hey!" His good hand grabbed at her sleeve. "You're supposed to be with Chris."

Jillian stopped in her tracks and glanced behind her in surprise. "I work here," she responded dryly. Her eyes dropped down to the fingers gripping her lab coat. They quickly returned to their owner's side. "What are you doing here at this time of night, Eric? Are you hurt?"

"My hand is banged up," he admitted loudly, "but why aren't you at Chris' place?" Jillian reached for his injured hand and turned it palm side up. Gentle fingers pressed into his skin and he flinched in pain.

"One of my patients was brought here for emergency surgery," she explained offhandedly. "We need to get this x-rayed."

"Fine, fine..." he snapped impatiently, "I'll get the damn thing x-rayed, just tell me where Chris is first!"

"I'm sure he's back at the loft by now," Jillian snapped back, but added with a sigh, "Follow me."

**THE DOORBELL RANG** just as Rita was kicking off her shoes. She stuck her head out of the bedroom to stare at the front door. If that was Eric standing in her hallway, she was in no mood to deal with his anger, misdirected as it was. Once he sobered up, there needed to be some serious discussion about the events of the past evening.

"Rita?"

A soft knock was followed by the sound of her name, and she hurried to the front door before her neighbors were awakened. She unchained the lock, turned the bolt and stepped back to allow her partner in. He was still dressed for a night out, but there was a deep weariness in the set of his shoulders.

"I didn't see Eric's car outside," he explained, moving further into the room so she could shut the door. "I thought if you were still up, maybe you wouldn't mind a little company."

"Sure," she responded curiously, "come on in and sit down." She led the way, calling out over her shoulder, "What happened to Jillian?"

Chris stopped next to the couch, remaining on his feet as she turned around to face him. "She was called into the hospital."

"That's too bad."

"I wanted to apologize, Sam," Chris stumbled over the words. "We shouldn't have left tonight without talking to you and Eric first.

"Don't even worry about it," she assured him quickly. "Anyone brave enough to cross that dance floor tonight should be granted a special dispensation regarding manners."

"I did try and reach you."

Although he hid it well, Rita spotted the sadness in his smile. Was he missing Jillian already? Or depressed because his romantic plans for the evening had fallen through? As his best friend, she should offer a shoulder a cry on, but God forgive her, she just couldn't bear to hear about the saintly Dr. Jillian tonight. Swallowing the guilt which would certainly return to be dealt with later, she settled for a safe, neutral subject, "Can you believe how crowded the club was?"

Her partner watched her closely as if reading her thoughts. Just as he started to respond, he seemed to change his mind about something, and simply offered, "Yeah, it was really crazy in there tonight."

"Sit down," Rita urged. "I was just about to get out of this dress and into something more comfortable."

**"ABOUT THAT DRESS, SAM…."** Chris followed her retreat with thoughtful blue eyes. The shimmering green material swayed enticingly over feminine curves and slender thighs.

"Yes?" Rita answered him from the bedroom, the door to which she had left half-open so they could talk while she changed.

"Dangerous stuff, Sammy." Hearing her snort of laughter, he couldn't resist adding. "I thought Eric's eyes were gonna pop right out of his head. You shouldn't do that to a man his age." Or a partner my age, he silently added.

"Just what exactly are you trying to say?" She called out. Busy buttoning the top button of her blue jeans, Rita's head was down when she walked back into the living room and she missed the confused play of emotions that passed over his face. When she did look up, he was shedding his coat and loosening his tie. "Do you seriously think Eric is too old for me?"

Chris dropped his folded jacket onto a nearby chair, grinning as he pulled his shirttails out of the waistband of his slacks. As sexy as the green dress had been, he preferred his partner this way: soft, natural, and here with him... Wait...

"Well?" Rita insisted, waiting for an answer.

Flustered by his territorial train of thought, Chris threw out what he hoped was the right response, "I would never presume to tell you who to date, Rita."

"Since when?" Disappointment flickered across her face, but Chris had looked away and didn't notice.

He had dropped down onto the couch, just as comfortable in his best friend's apartment as he was in his own. Thank goodness that aspect of their relationship hadn't changed yet. He didn't relish the thought of another man sharing these moments with her, although it was bound to happen eventually. Snap out of it, he warned himself, she's still waiting for an answer. He glanced up and his expression softened. "You're my best friend, Sam," he reminded her gently, "I trust your judgment."

"My judgment, huh? Sometimes I wonder if I still have any. How about some coffee?"

"Parfait," he sighed and picked up the television listings. "Maybe I can find something good on one of the movie channels."

"Great." After one last glance, she headed for the kitchen.

Chris looked over his shoulder as the door swung shut behind her. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head in confusion. When had life become so complicated?  
_

"**YOU WERE LUCKY,**" Jillian commented, giving the splint one final check. "It's only a fracture." Eric had grown quiet during the past half hour, but it was a quiet that was far from peaceful. She leaned against the counter as she wrote out a prescription.

"Lucky?" Harsh laughter rang out in the small treatment room. "Let's cut to the chase, Doc. I'm sick of playing games."

Surprised by the sudden outburst, Jillian glanced at Eric over her shoulder. She turned and handed him the prescription. "No one here is playing games."

"I don't mean us," he snapped back, shoving the paper into his shirt pocket. "I'm talking about Chris and Rita."

"What are you trying to imply? I don't know you very well, Eric, but if you and Rita are having trouble, I suggest you talk to her about it."

"Please..." he muttered, "Don't insult my intelligence. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't," she insisted. "Explain it to me." Eric slid off the examining table and reached for his jacket. He appeared to be leaving, and she rose to the bait, hating herself for playing right into his hands. "What about Chris and Rita?"

"You know how close they are," he ground out. "Best friends - according to everyone around them."

"You aren't telling me anything I don't know, Eric. Chris explained his relationship with Rita to me when we first started going out, and I've learned to accept it. We're all adults."

"Yeah, we are, aren't we?"

"Meaning?"

"They're probably together, even now - tonight. They've probably always been together, playing us for fools."

"That's ridiculous."

Eric leaned closer. "Is it? Tell me you don't feel it," he demanded.

Jillian turned away. It was getting late, she was tired, and she sorely regretted her participation in this conversation.

"You know I'm right," Eric continued relentlessly. "Because no matter where you and Chris are, and no matter what the two of you are doing, there will always be a part of him that belongs only to his partner, and it's a part that will never be shared with you."

Although her heart sank under the weight of his observations, her expression never wavered. She made excuses instead, not willing to acknowledge her private pain in his presence. "You're making too much out of this."

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"What?"

"A cell phone, dammit!" Eric ground out, "Give me your cell phone!"

Jillian pulled the small black phone out of her pocket and handed it to him. The disgust on her face was clear, but Eric was no longer paying her any attention. He fumbled impatiently, forced to dial with one hand while the other throbbed in pain.

She watched him curiously. "Do you mind telling me what you're doing?"

"I'm calling Rita's apartment," he mumbled through clenched teeth. Placing the phone to his ear, he stared at the ceiling and listened to the ringing.

There was an audible click when the phone was answered. Eric continued to listen, not saying a word. His expression darkened as he thrust the phone back into her hands and stormed out of the room.

Not sure what to expect, Jillian held the phone to her ear. The voice was painfully familiar. Her hand dropped back down, and she stared at the cell phone for a long moment before finally disconnecting the call. She slowly returned it to her pocket. Maybe the surprise and shock would hit her tomorrow, but for now, there was only sad resignation.

Her thoughts turned back to a crowded nightclub. Crossing the dance floor in search of Chris, she had spotted him seconds before he located his partner. Jostled by the dancers around him, he had turned for a split second, allowing her a quick view of his expression. When the music stopped, she knew the instant he spotted Rita. She should have turned away right there and then, but panicked desperation had taken hold, and she called out his name before she could stop herself. In one sense, Eric was right. She had been a fool, but a fool of her own making. Chris had never truly been hers to keep, and yet, how could she ever let him go?

Jillian raised her chin and squared her shoulders. The workday had been long and draining, the evening out - even more so. Thankfully, the patient she had returned to check on was doing better, and if she hurried, she could still get a few hours of sleep before sunrise. Personal problems would have to wait for the bright clarity of the morning.

**RITA WALKED BACK** into the living room carrying two mugs of coffee and a small green box of cookies tucked protectively under one arm. "Who was on the phone?"

Chris grinned as he watched her cross the room barefoot. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a soft blue tee, his partner was elegant even in her casualness. Needing a distraction, he grabbed the cookies before she could stop him, leaving her to set both mugs down on the coffee table. "They hung up," he answered, mouth full.

"Maybe it was a wrong number." Rita sat down sideways, drawing one leg up under her and letting the other dangle off the front of the couch. She picked up her mug and sipped carefully.

"Maybe," Chris nodded, "but I felt like whoever was on the other end was listening, waiting for me to say something else."

"Now why would they do that?" she laughed. "Hey, I thought you were going to find an old movie to watch." She reached across and snagged a thin mint before he finished them all.

"Do you mind, Sam?" He pointed to the blank screen. "After all that noise tonight, a little peace and quiet would be heaven. Maybe we could just sit here and talk?"

Her smile widened affectionately. "You must be getting old."

"And you're not?" Chris propped his stocking feet on the coffee table and sat back against the cushions to enjoy his coffee. This had to be his first real moment of peace all day.

"Never kid a woman about her age," his partner warned. Her voice dropped lower as leaned closer. "Is everything okay?"

"Sure."

"You were uncomfortable tonight, weren't you?" Chris didn't look up, and Rita was quick to answer her own question. "I shouldn't have forced you into going out with us. It was a stupid idea. Was Jillian upset? Is that why you left without saying good-bye?"

Chris hesitated for a moment and then sat up straighter, setting his feet back down on the floor. He turned to face her, taking hold of her free hand and holding it loosely in his. "You know I'm happy for you…" he began quietly.

"Of course." Rita squeezed his hand affectionately. "Just as I'm happy that you found Jillian."

"Exactly."

"But?"

"I don't want anything to affect our friendship."

"Has it?"

"No, I don't think so." Chris searched her expression, but for what, he wasn't quite sure. She held his gaze with unwavering faith and trust.

"Don't go borrowing trouble, Christopher."

"Is that what I'm doing?" Chris asked thoughtfully. Jillian's words were still stuck in his head.

Rita leaned forward, catching his eye with a teasing smile. "Hey..." she murmured, squeezing his hand tightly, "everything will work out." She took his mug, setting it down on the coffee table along with hers, and when his arm stretched out across the back of the couch, she settled comfortably at his side, accepting the strong familiar fingers that closed around her shoulder. "Life is all about change, some of it out of our control, but we've been friends too long to let what we have just slip away."

"You're right," he admitted with a contented nod. "I don't know what got into me tonight." Touching his forehead to hers, he grinned widely, "Thanks for straightening me out partner."

Rita was the first to look away. She patted his thigh and glanced around the room. "My pleasure, Sam. What should we talk about?"

"How about love, Sammy? Maybe you can explain a few things to me."

"Not on your life! I've had enough of love for one evening."

"You too, huh?"

"Definitely."

A deep sigh slipped out before he could stop himself. The thought of discussing Eric or Jillian was vastly unappealing to him at the moment also. "We're a couple of lost causes, aren't we?"

"I'm not ready to give up on us yet." Rita's voice dropped lower as she quickly added, "Just don't go anywhere, okay. I may need a shoulder to cry on one day."

He tried to hide his surprise, but the vulnerability in her voice had him tightening a protective arm around her shoulders. "There are few guarantees in this life beyond death and taxes, Sam, but there is one promise you can take to the bank. I will always be here for you."

Their eyes met for a moment, understanding each other on a level not yet attainable with the significant others in their lives.

_Fate, unavoidable despite all of its complications, had yet to run its course, but the dance toward their destiny was approaching its final refrain._

_**The End**_

Classic Moments 1999

Comments? Questions? Complaints?

Feedback by PM or Review is always appreciated.

Even clicking that "Favorite" button inspires writers to keep producing new works.


End file.
